


The Chronicles of Nimrodel

by silvergreyleaf



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boarding School, F/M, Ireland, M/M, Nimrodel Creek College, Valarin teaching staff, chaotic name use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-30 03:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvergreyleaf/pseuds/silvergreyleaf
Summary: Welcome to Nimrodel Creek, a beautiful institution of higher education in the rolling Irish landscape where all the Finweans and some other favorite Elves of mine turn teenage human and are all stuck together for a school year full of drama, fun and probably very little actual studying. Meet the local criminal gang that has it's hands in some very dirty business indeed, follow the clashes with the students of Doriath High and be prepared for a lot of indulgent scenes and dialogues.





	1. On and on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new school year seems star-crossed from the get go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Maedhros = Maitimo = Nelyo  
2) Maglor = Makalaure = Kano  
3) Celegorm = Tyelkormo = Tyelko  
4) Caranthir = Carnistir = Moryo  
5) Curufin = Curvo  
6) Fingon = Findekáno = Finno  
7) Turgon = Turukáno = Turno  
8) Aredhel = Irisse  
9) Finrod = Findaráto  
10) Aule = Mr. Mahal

Maedhros sighs as he sets the blinker and pulls onto the small road that leads down to the castle grounds. In the rear mirror he can see Curvo’s peaky face staring out motionless over the familiar landscape. Tyelko has half-wrapped an arm around his younger brother’s shoulders, snoring slightly. They shouldn’t have to go back to school already, Maedhros thinks to himself bitterly as he steers down the winding lane. It has been so little time. The parking lot is full of parents dropping their children off, cars flowing in and out steadily. Everything as it should be, except that it is not.  
“Enough.”, he mutters quietly as he turns of the engine, gets out of the car and starts unloading the trunk.

“Nelyo!” Makalaure pushes his way through and throws himself into his brother’s arms. “It is so good to see you. I’ve missed you more than I can tell.” Maitimo simply holds him tight, then gives him a surveying look.  
“The final concert?”  
“Well.”, Kano replies evasively. “I am glad to be back with you. I should have never left.” Maitimo shakes his head gently.   
“Father wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Makalaure simply shrugs dismissively.

As Kano leaves to greet his younger brothers, Nerdanel’s car swerves in next to them and Carnistir and the twins emerge. Moryo immediately lights a cigarette and draws a deep inhale.  
“You really shouldn’t.”  
“Oh, _fuck off_, Nelyo.”, Moryo growls before grabbing one of the suitcases out of the trunk and making his way towards the dorms.

“He doesn’t mean it.” Nerdanel steps next to him and gives her eldest son a worrying look. “Being back here and seeing the world simply moving on …”  
“I know, Nana. We’ll manage.” He starts unloading the left-over pieces of luggage while she says her good-byes to her other sons.

“I am so sorry for your loss.” Finrod looks genuinely concerned as he approaches. “It must simply be terrible.” Maedhros snorts.  
“Yeah, kind of. Thank you anyways.”  
“How are your brothers?” How the fuck do you think they are doing?, Maitimo wants to retort but he holds his tongue. Finrod understands his position as oldest brother better than most.  
“As well or ill as to be expected.”, he replies diplomatically, forcing himself to hold the gaze of those scrutinizing blue eyes.  
“If there is anything I can do, let me know.” Maitimo nods and manages a weak smile before Finrod walks over to Kano and Ecthelion.

“I’ll be off.”, Nerdanel mumbles as she returns to her car. “Take care of them.”  
“I always do.”, Maedhros replies automatically and gives her a quick hug. He cannot suppress a sting of guilt at the feeling of relief when her car finally disappears around the corner. She only meant well after all.

“Hey.” Maedhros spins around and finds himself face to face with Findekáno. He automatically takes a step backwards and folds his arms. “I haven’t heard much from you lately.” Finno smiles at him carefully.  
“Been busy.” Maedhros avoids his eyes. A thunder grumbles in the distance. “Better get inside.”, he mumbles, shuts the trunk more violently than necessary and picks up his luggage.  
“How are you doing?” Fingon holds him back on one arm and looks at him with genuine concern. That’s just one drop over the top.  
“How do you fucking think I am doing?”, Maedhros explodes and some heads turn towards them. “My father died in a fucking car crash.” He exhales sharply. _And it is all my fault_, he adds to himself and clenches a hand around his suitcase.  
“I am so sorry, Mae.”, Findekáno answers worriedly and stretches out a hand. Maitimo recoils backwards.  
“Just leave me _be_.” Hastily, he turns his head and shoves his way through the crowd towards the dorms, ignoring the whispers around him. Only when he shuts the door of his room behind him, he allows himself to slump against the wall. 

\--

Kano collapses onto his bed with a sigh of relief. “Rough time?”, Ecthelion inquires through the open door while pealing himself out of his soaked leather jacket.  
“Just flew in from Singapore tonight.”, Makalaure replies and rubs his tired eyes. “I directly came to school from the airport.”  
“Your big concert went smashing. I listened to the recording.” Makalaure manages to smile a little.  
“Thanks, Thel. I appreciate it.”  
“You really should, regarding the fact that I have no elevated interest in classical music whatsoever. And dude, that concert went on and on forever.”  
“You’re an amazing friend.”  
“The things I put myself through, just for you, man.” Kano cannot suppress a snort of laughter. It ought to be the first in weeks.

He looks up when Ecthelion appears in his doorframe, looking serious all of a sudden. “What happened to your dad is awful. Tell me if I can help.” Kano simply shakes his head.  
“I first have to realize it actually happened. While I was in Singapore, everything was so far away. I half-expected him to pick me up from the airport as usual.” His voice cracks up. “Oh, _damn it_.” He covers his face with his hands. Ecthelion pulls him close without asking permission and Makalaure burries his head in his friend’s shoulder.  
“_Shit!_ I cannot afford being weak.”, Kano curses between two sobs. “The small ones need me. I should have never left.”  
“Bullshit.”, Ecthelion replies expressively. “You are not weak. It was damn brave to go despite everything that had happened.” He remains by the side of his friend until Kano’s shaking finally ceases. “You should get some sleep.”, he says quietly, but Makalaure is already half-gone, so he gently pulls a blanket over his shoulder and lets the door click shut carefully as he leaves. 

\--

“Summer break has done you some good.”, Turukáno comments with a beam at Findarátos brown complexion.  
“The Puerto-Rican sun does that to me.”, Finrod replies theatrically. “Beautiful Amarie is yet pale as an aristocrat whereas I turned brown like a nut in just two weeks.”  
“How is she doing?”, Turukáno inquires politely, ignoring the little sting of disappointment in his stomach.  
“Her research project is going excellently, and she loves the country.” Finrod seats himself on their kitchen table and lets his long legs swing. “In fact, I love the country. I just feel horrible for the flights each time, her being an ecologist and all. Enough of me though, what have you been up to?”

“This and that.”, Turgon answers evasively, unwilling to admit that he spent most of his time either reading and studying or distracting Findekáno from the fact that his boyfriend hadn’t answered a single one of his texts for the entire summer.  
“Ah, chatty as ever.”, Finrod mocks him with a devious smile. “How about you join me in debate club? We will make a decent speaker out of you in no time.” It’s an old ritual. Every year, Findaráto tries to talk him into one of his extra-curriculars and each time Turgon refuses.  
“Sorry. I have some tough classes coming up. And in contrast to you, I cannot keep twenty different plates spinning at the same time.”

Finrod shrugs his shoulders, then he suddenly remembers something and his face lights up. “Wait a second. I brought you something. From Puerto Rico, I mean.” He whizzes out of the room and returns after some cursing as he throws half the content of his suitcase through his room. Turukáno has never understood how a person as organized as Findaráto can manage to be so untidy at the same time.

He proudly presents his friend with an unshapely lump of newspaper and duck-tape. “You might need a pair of scissors to open that…”, he admits with a crooked grin. Turgon fishes his key chain out of his pocket and lets the pocket-knife click open. “Genius.”, Finrod comments with deep admiration in his voice.

Finally, he manages to remove the gift-wrap and draws a sharp inhale. “Rum?!”, he exclaims. “You’re the head student. You can’t just gift me alcohol!” Finrod looks at him indignantly.  
“I didn’t bring alcohol, I brought you _cultural heritage_. This, my friend, is some of the finest Puerto-Rican rum.”

Turgon is about to refuse when he catches Finrod’s expectant gaze. _Damn you_. He smiles forcedly. “Thanks. Very considerate of you.”  
“You can bring it to the next secret gathering.”, Findaráto whispers conspiratorially and whizzes into his own room ere Turukáno can object that he hasn’t even heard of these meetings in the first place. 

\--

“Could you just turn this so-called music down in the slightest?”, Fingon shouts through the shut door while banging his fist against it. No reaction, just a hammering bass and awful rap tearing on his ears. Fingon rolls his eyes and kicks against the door in frustration. “For god’s sake, Tyelko. _Turn the music down_!”

He almost falls forward as the door is suddenly opened. The music ceases. Tyelkormo is half-naked, drenched in sweat and his fists are covered in red boxing gloves. Behind him a massive black punch bag is swinging gently from side to side.

“Got a problem, specks?” He crosses his arms and observes his cousin with a mocking smile. Fingon has to fight back the urge to push the golden frame of his glasses up his nose.  
“Could you please turn the music down?”, he repeats somewhat calmer. “It might have slipped your mind, but I live right next door.”  
“Else what?”, Tyelkormo asks with a grin. “Nelyo ain’t gonna help you out anymore. He dumped you, didn’t he?” Findekáno’s face expression slips.  
“You’re such an _ass_, Tyelko.”, he hisses despite his usual politeness, but Tyelkormo just shrugs his shoulders in infuriating ignorance.  
“So they say. Don’t get on my nerves, will you?”  
“You won’t hear a word from me as long as you keep the music down.”, Fingon replies tightly, cursing himself for allowing Tyelkormo to take the wind out of his sails so easily.

Tyelkormo merely shakes his hand with a worried expression around his mouth. “I’m shivering with fear.” Findekáno doesn’t even realize what he is doing when he suddenly takes a step forward and shoves Tyelkormo backwards with both hands. “Will you just_ shut up_?!” Tyelko gives a surprised snort of laughter, then he catches his balance and his fist smashes neatly into Fingon’s cheek, sending him crashing into the chairs in their common room.

A loud knock from the outside door has them both startled. Fingon stumbles to his feet, pressing one hand against his cheek when Mr Mahal enters. “What is going on?” He scans them with an intimidating gaze, seemingly holding back not to roll his eyes.

“He attacked me.”, Tyelkormo answers quickly. “Just jumped at me like a mad-man.”  
“The fuck I did!”, Fingon hisses in protest, clenching his fists.  
“Enough of this.”, their teacher interrupts and without having to lift the voice to keep them both quiet. “Watch your language, Findekáno. You should cool that. As for you…” He turns to Tyelkormo, shaking his head in the slightest. “I’d like to speak to you. My office, tomorrow at 5 p.m.” He shoots them a final warning glance, then slips out of the room.

“They_ always_ pick on me.”, Tyelko curses, kicking against the couch.  
“I wonder why.”, Fingon snorts and examines his glasses. Miraculously, nothing seems to be broken.  
“If you gonna put up a fight, better be ready for it, specks.”  
“Don’t call me that.” Fingon sighs in annoyance, then forces himself to look up at Tyelkormo. “I am sorry about your dad.”  
“Mind your own business.”

Celegorm pulls the door to his room shut and a second later, the music re-emerges, though, if Findekáno is not mistaken, in the slightest less noisy than before.

\--

After having dropped off his suitcase in his room, Carnistir has immediately retreated to his safe spot. He is even less in the mood to put up with Angrod right now than he is usually. He pulls his jacket closer around him as a cool breeze washes over the rooftop, carrying away the gusts of smoke he produces.

“Hey.” He spins around, finding himself face to face with Irisse and a groan of annoyance escapes him.  
“What do you think you are doing up here?”  
“Needed to get out.”, she replies tersely and shivers in the cold despite her woollen cardigan. He gives her a closer look, taking in the rings under her eyes and her peaky complexion.

“Well, find yourself your own spot. This one’s mine.” He turns his head to gaze over the forest and the village in the distance, glancing at her in irritation when she steps next to him and leans onto the parapet. She stretches out one hand demandingly to his cigarette.  
“You’re too young to smoke.” He wants to pull away, but she is quicker, snatches the cigarette out of his hand and takes a deep inhale.  
“Get lost, Moryo. I’m not even a year younger than you are.” She blows the smoke right into his face with a mocking smile.  
“Disgusting.”, he comments disdainfully and reclaims the cigarette. “Now back off.” She gives him an ironic laughter.  
“You don’t own the rooftop.”

“Is it really too much to ask to just be left alone?!”, Caranthir exclaims, snipping the cigarette butt of the roof.  
“Must be tough. With your dad and all.”, she mentions earnestly, while swinging one leg over the parapet to sit astride it.   
“Doesn’t help that everyone feels entitled to bring it up the entire fucking time.” She cocks her head.  
“People just want to help.”  
“But they freaking don’t.”, he replies and lights up another cigarette to handle the shaking of his hands. She shrugs and gets up.

“Fine. Won’t bring it up again then.” He smiles at her despite himself as she makes her way towards the roof hatch.  
“Hey.”, he calls before she disappears. “Are you ok?” She pulls a grimace at him and pulls her head through the hatch.  
“Why would I ever not be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) About Celegorm's abreviated name (Tyelko): I am aware that the abrevations normally come from the father names, making Tyelkormo Turko, but I happen to find that hugely unaethetic and therefore go with this form.
> 
> 2) Feanor's death occurred towards the beginning of the summer break, about one month before school start.
> 
> 3) All the main characters are aged somewhere between 14 and 19 years old (ranging from Lower Tertia to Upper Prima).
> 
> 4) I have prepared a little character cast which can be found here:  
https://silvergreyleaf.tumblr.com/post/188005879941/the-character-cast-of-my-au-silmarillion-fanfic


	2. Difficulties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A music lesson, a band rehearsal and a trouble-maker in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Ulmo = Mr. Nenion  
2) Glorfi= Glorfindel  
3) Amras = Telufinwe = Telvo  
4) Tulkas = Astaldo

When Makalaure enters the auditorium, his steps echo through the empty room. With a sigh he drops of his bag on one of the front chairs and hops onto the stage, switching on a solitary beam to illuminate the grand piano.

He knits his brows at the stack of papers neatly placed atop the polished maple. Taking a closer look, he feels his heart sinking to his knees. Concert reviews, certain passages highlighted accusingly; …a _solid _performance… _decently _played … his _stalwart _technique. Each phrase feels like a further nail in his coffin. Not that he hadn’t been aware of these critiques, and had his father still been alive, he would have been confronted with them much earlier.

Makalaure spins around when he hears footsteps approaching and sees Mr. Nenion jog up the stairs to the stage, guiltily putting aside the reviews as if caught red-handed. Without a word of greeting, his teacher places a familiar set of sheets on the music stand, beckoning Maglor to the piano stool.

Händel’s _Passacaglia_, again. Yet, considering Mr. Nenion’s expression and air of impatience, he doesn’t dare to protest and instead draws in a deep breath and puts his hand to the tiles. The first bars ring through the auditorium and Makalaure feels a wave of relief crash through him. At least his hands still know what they are doing, playing the familiar melody that, as so many other concert pieces, has come to haunt his dreams.

“Enough already.”

With an unmelodious jingling, Maglor cuts off mid-piece and gazes at Mr. Nenion questioningly.

“What was that?”

“Händel’s Passacaglia?”, Makalaure responds defiantly. “Or at least, the first half of it.”

His teacher taps his fingers on the dark wood. Never a good sign.

“Don’t be insolent with me.”, he cuts him short and Maglor clenches his hand into a fist. “You should consider yourself fortunate.” He points at the stack of newspaper cut-outs. “Solid? Decent? Next time around they won’t be so lenient.”

Makalaure forces himself to nod, jaw tensed up and eyes strictly avoiding Ulmo’s gaze.

“Again.”

This time, Maglor is cut off after a few bars only.

“Whatever you think it is, that you are playing, it is not the Passacaglia, not even close.”

This just proves to be the last straw. Makalaure shoots Mr. Nenion an angry look from glistering black eyes. “Alright, tell me ‘bout it, then!” He sounds much more unrestrained than he had hoped for.

Ulmo holds his gaze, utterly unimpressed by his student’s spontaneous outbreak. “You aren’t playing, not properly at least. A piece consists of more than just notes written on paper and you know that. The critics know it too and they are able to tell the difference.”

“Fine! I was off track _once_, the first and only time in years!”, Makalaure exclaims, knowing full well that he has made a mistake as soon as the words have left his lips.

“And that is one time too much.”, his teacher retorts calmly. “No one can afford to rest on one’s laurels, not in this metier. You may think yourself famous, the beloved of the audience even, but I can assure you, they will let you fall faster than you can play a trill if you deliver sub-par.”

Makalaure folds his arms. “I played accurately, both in Singapore and now.”

Ulmo shoos him off the piano stool and sets himself down, adjusting the height. “Accurately and utterly replaceable.” He plays only the last part of the piece, each trill and each note cutting through the silence in crystalline perfection, varying from elation to sadness to solemnity.

“Spot the difference?”, he inquires and looks at his student, hands resting in his lap. Makalaure is chewing his lower lip and simply nods. Their performances were worlds apart from each other.

“Now, I know you can do better and I know what happened to Curufinwe.” Maglor nods again. His father had been in close contact with Ulmo regarding his musical career. Only for reasons of urgent personal business, his teacher hadn’t accompanied him to Singapore after he had heard the news.

“We will try again next session.”, Mr. Nenion continues severely. “Until then, I want you to do two things. First, you practice the Passacaglia until I can believe that I am listening to a talented human being and not a depressed robot. Second and more importantly, I want you to tell me why you are doing this.” With his chin he indicates at the grand piano.

Makalaure cocks an eyebrow questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“I think you understand. I want to know why you practice several hours each day, every day; even when your hands are tired, and your head is aching; even when you cannot stand the piece in front of you anymore.”

Before Maglor can give an answer, Ulmo quickly interrupts him. “You don’t have to give me your answer now. Think about it carefully.” Without any further word, his teacher gets up, hops off stage and leaves the auditorium.

Makalaure sighs silently. He’s got three days.

\-- 

“Finno!”, Ecthelion greets him through the yet empty rehearsal room. “How was the summer?” Fingon shoots him a sharp look through golden-framed glasses.

“Crap.” He shakes his hand that is burning from Ecthelion’s handshake and curses.

“Good thing we talked about it.”, Ecthelion answers with a grin and takes his guitar of his back. “I spent my summer travelling through Italy with Glorfi and …”

“Italian girls are everything you expected them to be?”, Fingon interrupts, cocking an eyebrow.

“Exactly. How did you work that out?” Ecthelion looks mildly disappointed.

“Because you’ve said the same thing about the last five nations that you’ve visited.” Ecthelion shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.

“Come on, don’t be like that. Being away from school cannot have been that bad.”

“Haven’t had a word from Nelyo for the entire summer.”, Fingon mumbles and stares intently on his bass guitar. Ecthelion observes at him with pity. Finno had had a hard-enough time getting together with Maitimo in the first place.

“Kano seemed pretty thrown off track as well.” 

“Unsurprisingly.”, Fingon retorts. “I only wish he would talk to me.”

They quickly shut up when the door opens again, and their band leader enters. Makalaure still looks rather jet-lagged but he makes an effort to smile at them.

“Will you finally give us the identity of the mysterious Arminas-replacement you’ve shaken out of your sleeve?” Ecthelion greets him with a smile and points his chin at the abandoned drum set.

“Well. I thought hard on someone who is perfectly able to make a hell of a racket and I have decided on …” The door flies open.

“Your sister?!”, Fingon exclaims in surprise and Amras sticks out her tongue at him.

“Problem?”, she asks him and cheekily throws her hair over one shoulder.

“You want to invite the devil to our band?”, Ecthelion inquires with a bit more moderation. “May I remind you that she set the school’s shed on fire when she tried to light up her own fart?”

She gives him a charming smile. “It was my brother’s fart. I just held the lighter.”

“Thanks for the clarification, Telvo. You may take your seat.” Makalaure beckons her over to the drum set.

Ecthelion leans over to her as she settles in. “I’ve always meant to ask. Why do they call you that?” She shrugs her shoulders.

“Dad was expecting two boys really. He never bothered changing the preferred name.” She falls silent and hastily buries her nose in her backpack to fish out her drumsticks.

“I am really sorry.”, Ecthelion mumbles contritely and almost flinches at the intense gaze of her green eyes.

“Yeah. You all are.”

They turn their heads towards Kano as he clears his throat.

“Next gig is the Back-to-school party the coming week. Telvo has already practiced some of our songs, so we can focus on putting things together today.”

Amras snickers and leans over to Findekáno.

“He makes it sound like I am downright prepared. He really should know me better.”

“_He_ can hear you, sis. Try not to fuck up for once.”, Kano replies sharply when stepping over to his keyboard.

Ecthelion pulls a grimace and looks at Amras pityingly, but she merely shrugs her shoulders. Makalaure had been terse and waspish for weeks on end.

“Right. Let’s start with ‘Nightlife Madness’ and then see where we take it from there.”, Ecthelion breaks the awkward silence and hangs his guitar over his neck.

He counts them in and Amras quickly picks up the beat and Ecthelion cannot help but groove along. She certainly knew what she was doing, making it easy to forget that Arminas has left. When he starts singing, he lets the music wash through him and erase any other thought.

Therefore, it feels like his smooth cruise hits rock ground when Makalaure forgets to play the bridge, having them break apart into an unmelodious cacophony.

“Damn it.”, Kano curses and massages his temples. “My mistake. Another go from the second refrain?” Ecthelion and Findekáno exchange a quick glance. For Makalaure to play a bum note was rare enough, but for him to be inattentive while playing was a novelty.

“Sure, don’t worry about it. On my count, two, three.”

It is loud, it is aggressive, and it is damnably perfect to have nothing but music around them, to lose themselves to chords and beat for song after song and Ecthelion has to smile when he hears Amras whoop in delight.

The flow is quite lost, however when they reach the intricate fugue of Makalaure’s _Symphony for Eternity _and he can’t get it right even the fourth time around, losing both patience and focus until he bangs his fist against the soundproofed wall, expression both tense and flustered.

“Maybe we should call it a night.”, Fingon interjects carefully, gazing at Maglor with his head cocked to one side.

“Finno is right.”, Ecthelion agrees and settles down his guitar. “It’s late enough and there is no need to push yourself.” He almost jerks when Makalaure shoots him a sharp glance from glittering eyes.

“But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? Music is precisely about pushing yourself.” He storms off before they can hold him back, letting the door bang shut behind him.

Amras clicks her tongue into the sudden silence. “That went smoothly.”

“I am sure, it’s just the jetlag.”, Fingon mumbles while casing his bass guitar.

“Right.”, she snorts bitterly, throws her hair over one shoulder and rushes out of the band room.

\--

Tyelko scoffs when he walks into Mr. Mahal’s office, being faced not only with him but also with Tulkas, sitting on the desk with his muscular arms crossed over his impressive chest.

“To what do I owe the honour?”

“Sit down.”, Aule greets him without paying heed to Tyelko’s cynical comment and points towards a lonely chair in front of the massive mahogany desk.

“I told you, I haven’t done anything. Specks started, I just defended myself.”

“I’m certain, Findekáno would present us with a quite different version of the same event.”, Mr. Mahal replies with a roll of his eyes.

“I thought, we were done with this, Tyelkormo.”, Tulkas continues seamlessly and his serious expression gets to him more than Aule’s scolding ever could. “It is a given that we do _not_ use our skills randomly. I gave you a final warning after the street fights last term, but you clearly don’t respond to that.”

Celegorm snorts in annoyance. “So much for innocent until proven guilty.” Aule and Tulkas exchange a telling glance.

“Astaldo here has asked me to step in for some extra lessons.”, Aule replies unfazed.

“French lessons for punishment?”, Tyelko can’t hold back a dry laughter. “Sure thing.”

“Self-control.”, Tulkas corrects him. “I will not train you any further as long as I have to worry that you are going to smash people’s heads in. I don’t need that responsibility.”

Tyelkormo turns his head to Aule. His unperturbed manner is starting to get the better of him. “No offense to you, but what does a philo… a language person know about self-control?”

Aule’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “I have done more than study philology.”, he replies cryptically.

“Good, old Mahal here has had his fair share of trouble-making.”, Tulkas adds with a side grin to his friend. “He can teach you some valuable lessons and you will listen.”

“Can’t I just apologize and be done with it?” Celegorm stares at them spitefully, reclining in his chair with folded arms.

“That won’t do.”, Mr. Mahal informs him with a raised eyebrow. “Since I have my justified doubts about you actually meaning it. Once per week will suffice for now. I will inform you about location and time as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Anyone interested in the classical piece, Kano gets to play, can check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UOlZJutANA  
2) Yup, I gender-bent Amras, based on a spontaneous gut decision.  



End file.
